


Games Night

by Davechicken



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, Nefarious miracles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:00:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21864136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: When the power goes out, there's only one solution.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 41
Kudos: 70





	Games Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lisalicious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisalicious/gifts).



“ _Great_. Now the electricity is out.”

“And?”

“What the bloody hell am I supposed to do for entertainment _now_ , angel?”

The minute - nay - the millisecond it passed his lips, Crowley realised he had made A Terrible Mistake. Awful. Worse than the time he thought visiting Ireland would be a laugh. Just...

The angel’s eyes glittered in that way he associated most with ‘Is this your card?’ or ‘Isn’t this wholesome fun?’ or ‘Now, the pen _is_ mightier than the - why are you stabbing me, Crowley?’

“No,” he said, horrified.

“Yes!”

“I’ll turn it back on,” Crowley said, already trying to get to his feet, but waylaid by an angel who didn’t _run_ but sure as hell _moved faster than the theory of relativity would normally allow_.

“Crowley! It’s the perfect time!”

“You **hate** it. You do. You say, every time, that it was a bad idea.”

“That’s only because you _spoil it_.”

“Me? I spoil it? If I win, you say I’m cheating. If you win, I’m a poor sport.”

“You do cheat!”

“I’m a demon!”

“There are _rules_ , Crowley.”

“And one of the _house_ rules should be _cheat harder than someone if you want to win_.”

Next: the pout.

It was, Crowley had to admit, a very good one, this time. Just the right wobble-to-creased brow ratio. The sparkle of unshed tears was on peak form.

“It’s _fun_.”

It was not fun. But Crowley threw himself onto the couch to spread in seven directions at once, all of them cardinally sinful.

“Not Monopoly again.”

The cloud of sorrow dissipated into the giddy pre-game of glee, and happy little hands clapped together. “Backgammon? Ludo?”

“Twister?” Crowley offered.

“The hippo game?”

“ _Not the hippo game_.”

“Chess?”

“ **You** cheated last time and declared a revolution.”

More wobble.

“Scrabble. Current edition of the OED only,” he compromised. “And no complaining about the proper name rule.”

“...Thank you, darling,” the angel beamed.

He would win this one. Crowley would play until it was close enough to be a challenge, but there were certain things he would _not_ allow Aziraphale to lose at. Everything else was fair game (or unfair game, as the case may be), but you had to let him win the word ones. 

Or, ninety-seven percent of them.

If you wanted to sleep in the same room, anyway. 

He also suspected the power would miraculously return shortly after the game. The angel had never been as subtle as he liked to think. It was one of his better bad qualities. 


End file.
